It’s the long weekend, and we’re at the cabin with family—a perfect opportunity for relaxation and reflection. My husband has been swamped with work lately, and we’ve been looking forward to this getaway for weeks. We even got our twin toddlers their first fishing rods and set up a treasure hunt. But here I am, feeling like I’m on the verge of losing it.
One of my boys just looked at me and said, “Mama’s tired.” And you know what? He’s right. I’m really tired. I try to shield my boys from my emotional struggles, but they’re getting older and more observant. I can only pretend for so long. And honestly, I’m realizing that you don’t need to have a mental illness for the pressures of parenting to feel overwhelming.
We’re all just trying to do our best to raise our kids and protect them from the chaos of the world. But what happens when society makes you feel like you’re the problem? That you’re not careful or aware enough?
I was terrified about becoming a parent. For most of my life, I swore I wouldn’t have kids, believing that my childhood and my battles with anxiety and depression made me unfit. It feels like there are so many rules out there that no one could ever measure up. Just the other night, I stumbled upon an article detailing the worst sunscreens for kids, and guess what? The ones I just bought made the list! Do I toss out the pricey bottles and buy the “good” stuff that probably costs an arm and a leg? Or do I slather my kids in what I now know is harmful?
I’m over it. I’m exhausted. It isn’t just my husband’s long hours or the chaos of raising twin toddlers—it’s the constant barrage of parenting guidelines. There are rules about food, hygiene, clothing, education, medication, sleep methods, playtime, friendships, car seats, breastfeeding—the list goes on. And you can replace “rules” with opinions, guidelines, standards, and so forth.
I’m fed up. Seriously, take your scientific charts and save them for someone else.
In all my years of anxiety about parenting, I never realized that maybe I’m not the problem. Loving my boys and doing my best to provide for them without losing my sanity or breaking the bank is what responsible parenting looks like.
I find myself awake at night, not worrying about my mental health but stressing over whether I washed their new clothes before they wore them because I read an article about toxic chemicals in them. Can we just agree that everything is out to get us?
Instead, I want to serve my kids one meal without that nagging voice telling me it might be harmful. I’m not against being proactive or caring about these issues—absolutely not. I respect all the mamas who are knocking it out of the park with their parenting choices. I’m just tired of the pressure.
Every night when I tuck my boys in, I realize they’re the happiest, healthiest kids I know. They’re my greatest achievement, regardless of what the latest trends say. Sometimes I wish I lived in a time without the constant influx of parenting advice.
My father runs a facility for trafficked children in another country, and it puts things in perspective. Recently, they took in a 3-year-old who has never spoken and is malnourished. Meanwhile, we’re stressing over bedtime routines.
So go ahead and share your articles and revelations; I’m stepping back for a bit. Life is tough enough as it is. I want to enjoy every moment with my boys. When I come across sensational headlines, I’ll shut my computer and dream about our next family adventure. Because, honestly, I’m tired. Really, really tired. And I care more about living each day with my kids than worrying about every little risk.
Thank you for reading, and goodnight.
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